


Famous Last Words

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, During Canon, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:43:13
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: They never did work out what to call whatever they've been doing since Sam was sixteen.  But then, it's never seemed all that important before. .... "We just have to stop, Sam."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** I suck at titles, so I took one from an MCR song of the same name that has absolutely nothing to do with this story. I didn't put an underage warning on this because no one is underage in the present of the story but, as you've learned from the summary, Sam was 16 when they started their relationship, and it mentions that, so if you don't like it, don't read. Um. Set season 1, maybe season 2 - spoilers only for Pilot. Also, this is my first Wincest story, so please be gentle. And I apologise for my over-use of italics and commas.  
>  Anyway, without further ado - this is what came out of my brain at 3 o'clock in the morning. Enjoy!

“Sam, I think we should stop.”

 

Dean watches as Sam looks up at him from where he’s sitting on the bed, laptop in front of him, surrounded by pages of research. His hair is falling into his eyes and a quizzical half-smile is quirking his lips and Dean doesn’t quite manage to cut the thought that his brother looks fucking _hot_ short before it forms fully in his mind.

 

“Stop what?” Sam is all innocence; he has no idea what Dean is talking about, and it doesn’t even occur to him that it might not be something he wants to hear. Dean hates himself a little bit.

 

“This. Us.” Dean gestures helplessly at the space between them. They never did work out what to call whatever the fuck they’ve been doing since Sam was sixteen. But then, it’s never seemed all that important before.

 

Sam blinks. “What?”

 

“We just have to stop, Sam.”

 

Confused, Sam pushes his laptop aside and stands, taking a few steps toward his brother, where he’s standing close to the bathroom door. “Dean...” He doesn’t know what to say – he can’t even fathom why Dean would be saying this, _now_ , after everything. “ _Why_?” he finally manages around the lump in his throat. Are those tears he can feel in his eyes? _No_.

 

Dean barks out a laugh. “Why? Because... ‘Cause it’s fuckin’ _weird_ , Sam.” He sees the hurt flare in his brother’s eyes and feels the answering stab of guilt in his own chest but he’s started now and he can’t stop. “It’s not normal to fuck your brother.”

 

Sam flinches backwards like he’s been struck, his eyes wide and shining. “I—I know, but...”

 

“But what?” Dean laughs again, a harsh, hollow sound. “Christ, Sam, you didn’t think this was _forever_ or something, did you?” The look on Sam’s face tells Dean that that was exactly what Sam had thought. “Nah, man. It’s just easier than goin’ out every night and convincing a girl she wants to fuck.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sam whispers. His eyes are fucking _burning_ and he’s half blinded by what he has to accept are tears now but he’ll be damned if he’s going to let Dean see him cry. Not over this.

 

“It’s just a matter of convenience, Sam.” Dean is aware that he sounds like he’s talking about something as mundane and unimportant as the weather, and he thinks he’s doing pretty well considering his throat keeps trying to close up on him. “But it has to stop. It’s getting... well, weird.”

 

“Weird,” Sam repeats, his voice breaking. That shit Dean said about convenience isn’t true, he _knows_ it isn’t true, but the words have just come right out of _Dean’s mouth_ and _oh fuck_... “Weird. Okay. Fine.”

 

Dean doesn’t stop Sam from leaving, doesn’t even look at him – he turns his head when Sam’s done speaking and hears him exhale a shuddering breath before shrugging his jacket on. The _snick_ of the door as it shuts behind him – Sam isn’t even pissed enough to slam it – sounds final. Dean knows it’s the sound of defeat.

 

He’s in the bathroom when Sam gets back, fresh out of the shower. Either Sam thinks the walls are thicker than they are or he just doesn’t give a fuck, because there’s no way he doesn’t know Dean’s there and he makes the call anyway.

 

“Bobby? It’s me. ... Yeah, I’m fine; he’s fine. Listen, can I come stay with you for a few days? ... I’m _fine_ , Bobby, I just need a break. It’s all getting a bit too much, y’know? ... No, he’s not. ... Okay, thanks Bobby. See you soon.”

 

Just in case Sam really doesn’t know Dean could hear him, he waits a few moments before exiting the bathroom, a towel around his waist. Sam is sitting on the bed, facing the door. Waiting for him. The brothers share a long look, each waiting for the other to break, to speak, to _fix this, please make it stop_. But it’s not Sam’s mess to fix, and Dean’s a stubborn bastard, so when Dean looks away and starts getting dressed, keeping his back to his brother, they both feel whatever it is between them snap and fall away.

 

As soon as he’s ready, Dean grabs his leather jacket and his keys. He looks at Sam, knowing that this is his last chance to make this any kind of right. He opens his mouth to say something – _I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t leave me_ – and what comes out is, “I’m going out. You’ll be okay, Sammy?”

 

“ _Don’t_ call me Sammy.” Sam doesn’t even look at him as he spits the words, thick with hurt and vitriol. Dean staggers back, blinking the sting out of his eyes. 

 

“Sure. Whatever, Sam.”

 

Dean is pissed enough to slam the door behind him. When he gets back, four hours and too many beers later, Sam is gone.

****

_He can’t remember how it started. Well, he can. He can remember the first time they kissed, the first time they touched, the first time they came panting the other’s name into his mouth – the first time they_ everything _. What he can’t remember is who initiated it, whose idea it was that very first time. All he remembers from that moment is that he had_ wanted _for so long and that the relief to discover that apparently his brother wanted too and he could have everything he’d always craved, with Sam, was immense._

_He’d told the truth. It_ was _weird, fucking your brother. But it was also_ right _and Sam wanted it so Dean didn’t question it. He figured if that ever changed, Sam would let him know, and until then why not enjoy the ride?_

_At first, with Dad around, they’d had to be careful. When he was away on a hunt, they could spend whole days in bed together, naked and sweaty and_ perfect _, but when he was home Dean went out and got his kicks elsewhere. They never talked about it, and he told himself that Sam was okay with it even though he knew he wasn’t. In the end, it wasn’t something they had to deal with; Dad started taking Dean with him on more and more hunts and then Sam was announcing that he’d been offered a place at Stanford and Dad was telling him that if he went he could never come back and Dean was driving him to the bus station and promising to call him at every opportunity. They both knew he was lying through his teeth but the words sounded good, like they were the right ones to say._

_Then Dad went missing, and Sam had a girlfriend who got fried on the ceiling and suddenly they were back on the road again and Dean felt whole for the first time in years. It took them a few months of awkward silences and ‘two queens, please’ before they were falling into bed together and falling back into the same routine – with one small,_ huge _difference. Dean didn’t fuck anyone else. He didn’t need to. He didn’t_ want _to. He had everything he wanted, right next to him, all day, every day. This is how he knows Sam didn’t believe a word he said about_ matters of convenience _._

_He doesn’t even really know why he said those things. He’s never had a conscience when it came to him and Sam before – why should he have one now? But he does. And he knows exactly who to blame._

_Their last job had been a stressful one, during which Sam had almost lost his head – literally. High on adrenalin and fear and relief and_ want _, they had tied up all the loose ends at the local PD and left as quickly as possible. Dean, more impatient than usual, had slammed Sam against the side of the Impala, hands everywhere, and had proceeded to conduct a thorough examination of his tonsils._

_Two guys, friends of the family they had helped this time, just happened to come into the parking lot at that moment, and they had broken apart, blushing furiously. They got in the car, and just before Dean had started the engine, he caught the tail end of the guys’ conversation as they walked by._

_“...a minute, didn’t they say they were_ brothers _?”_

_“Man, that’s fucked up.”_

_“Can you imagine what kind of a sick perv you’d have to be to do that to your_ kid brother? _”_

_“...ruined his fucking life.”_

_The men had laughed, continuing on their way to their cars, and Dean had taken off, nearly clipping one of them as he passed._

_The drive back to the motel was tense. Dean kept stealing glances at Sam, trying to work out if he’d heard, and eventually Sam caught on and put him out of his misery. He laughed it off, reminding Dean that they were never coming back to this town so why should they care what the locals knew or thought? Dean had agreed with him, and then spent several hours making Sam forget all about what those bastards had said._

_But Dean didn’t forget. He had laid awake all night, Sam plastered against his side, turning the words over and over in his mind._ Was _he sick, perverted? Probably._ Had _he ruined Sam’s life? The thought made his stomach churn. He tried telling himself that_ no _, Sam wanted this as much as he did – but what if that was his fault, too? Sam had always hero-worshipped him, what if this had all started out of some fucked-up desire of Sam’s to give his big brother whatever he wanted?_

_Maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe Sam had wanted this of his own accord. But that didn’t mean Dean wasn’t ruining his life. Sam had always been, well, faithful to Dean when they’d been together and as far as he knew he’d only been with Jess while he’d been at Stanford. Between hunting and this whatever that they had, Dean had never let Sam experience any kind of normalcy._

_Eventually, Dean had reached the conclusion that he wasn’t being fair; he needed to let Sam have that. That’s why, now, Dean is all alone in a dingy motel room, lying with a Sam-shaped hole in his chest in a bed that’s too big and too_ empty _, and trying to tell himself that he did the right thing._

****

Dean lasts a week without Sam before he caves and drives to Bobby’s place. Sam’s out on a hunt when he gets there, probably won’t be back ‘til late but that’s okay, he can wait. He’d wait forever, for Sam.

 

It’s past two in the morning when Sam finally returns. If he’s surprised when he flicks on the light in his room and finds Dean standing there, looking at him, he doesn’t show it. His expression is completely devoid of any emotion, and Dean takes in the split lip and the tired eyes and the way his breath had hitched in pain when he’d pushed the door open. They stare at each other for a long time, Dean trying to convey how much he’s _missed_ Sam using just his face and Sam looking... tired. Hollow. Not a word is spoken between them.

 

At last, Sam moves. He doesn’t go to Dean, doesn’t even acknowledge his presence except with the way he looks straight at him, but that’s okay – Dean doesn’t really expect him to. Sam just starts to undress, eyes never leaving Dean’s, rolling his shoulder so carefully that Dean knows it must hurt and peeling his jacket off himself like to do it any faster would cause his skin to come away with it. He winces in pain as he gets one arm free and starts to pull at his other sleeve. Dean can’t stand it; he’s always hated seeing Sam hurt but bile rises into his throat at the thought that this is _his fault_ – if he hadn’t been a dick and pushed him away they’d have been together on this hunt; he’d have been able to protect his Sammy like he was supposed to.

 

Sam hisses in a sharp breath when he finally gets the coat off and tries to start on his shirt and Dean just _can’t_ anymore. He steps forward. “Sam, why don’t you let me-”

 

Sam shakes his head violently, suddenly looking like a frightened child, and Dean gets the impression that just hearing his voice right now is too much for his brother to handle so he backs off and stays quiet. Sam isn’t looking at him anymore.

 

It takes what feels like forever, everything in slow motion, but at last Sam is dressed in just his boxers and Dean swallows hard as he takes in the bruises, all colours of the rainbow, marring his chest and legs. He watches, still keeping his distance, as Sam moves over to the bed. The same double bed that they used to share when they stayed here as kids, Dean realises. It’s littered with papers, research for this latest hunt probably, and Sam takes his time collecting them all in a certain order before pushing them neatly into his laptop bag, which he sets down in the far corner of the room. He then proceeds to make the bed, smoothing the quilt methodically like their father taught them before he decided that it wasn’t worth it. Keeping his back to Dean, he slowly, purposefully, turns down the right side of the quilt, before walking around the bed and getting in on the other side. Only then does he look at his brother, watching him with expectant eyes.

 

Dean realises belatedly and with a feeling of incredible relief that this is an invitation. He strips down to his boxers faster than he’s ever done anything before and slides in next to Sam. It’s only when he’s pulling the covers over himself that a sense of awkwardness creeps over him – should he really be doing this? What does this mean? But then Sam is right _there_ , pressing into him and putting those feet that have always been like _fucking_ ice blocks against his legs and Dean crushes his younger brother against him, burying his face in his hair to hide the sudden tears that he can’t stop from falling.

 

“Sammy, _Sammy_ , I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, voice muffled by Sam’s hair, before pulling back and kissing him like it’s the last chance he’ll get. Sam responds, _thank God_ , but it isn’t enough and Dean breaks the kiss to press his lips to Sam’s face, neck, every inch of skin that he can reach. “I love you,” he mumbles between kisses. “I love you _so much_ , Sammy, I was wrong and stupid and such a fucking dick and I can’t live without you, I can’t-” The parts he can’t reach with his mouth, he explores with his hands – touching, remembering, loving with a desperation tempered only by the fact that he knows Sam is hurt and he has to be careful not to make it worse. “Never again. Never leave me again, Sammy, ‘cause I can’t do it, I can’t—this is forever. I love you, Sammy, I’m _sosorrypleasestay_.”

 

“I know,” Sam manages to gasp, bringing his hands up to frame Dean’s face. Dean stills instantly, peering down at his brother with wide, tear-filled eyes. He’s managed to end up on his back somehow, with Dean over him; Sam brushes the tears from Dean’s cheeks with his thumbs and offers him a smile. “Shhh, Dean, I _know_. It’s okay.”

 

It’s not okay, not by a long shot. They both know this as they lie entwined in the middle of the bed, Dean’s head on Sam’s chest. They know that they’ll have to talk about it tomorrow, that Dean will have to explain where the fuck all the crazy came from and then Sam will have to explain that those guys in the parking lot were completely fucking wrong and that this, here, with Dean, is exactly what he wants. And then they’ll have to start rebuilding their relationship, because that’s what it needs to be now. No more games, no more dodging around the subject, no more ‘it never seemed all that important’ – a _relationship_.

 

Dean feels a sense of peace steal over him at the thought of making it as official as it can get for two brothers who are in love with each other. But that, like everything else, is to be dealt with tomorrow. Right now, for the first time in a week, they sleep.


End file.
